Opposites Attract (Rewrite!)
by BlueFrenchHorn97
Summary: Zelda's dreading attending Her Grace's Academy, Hyrule's most esteemed sixth form college. But when she arrives, she finds it's not all blazers, libraries and historic buildings. Her step brother seems like a different boy altogether, she's friends with people she wouldn't have looked twice at before, and she's dragged into elaborate schemes with the school's troublemakers.
1. Home in Floria

**Hello there ladies and gentlefolk! So it's been quite a while since I first announced the rewrite of Opposites Attract, and quite a bit has changed in that time, including some of the content within this story! I have made a lot of adaptations from the original, for multiple reasons – I'll go into this in greater detail at the end for those of you who are interested. But I don't want to waste the time of those who just want a story!**

**Anyway, so I apologise for the delay, but A-levels were absolutely killing me. I'm into summer now and I look forward to getting some serious writing done, especially seeing as I'm applying to Creative Writing university courses for 2015! I've missed you all a great deal, and I hope you'll all forgive my absence.**

**Thank you to LEva114 for beta reading!**

**WARNING: This story does contain mild language. It's at what I call 'American sitcom level'. In other words, the language in here will be no worse than 'crap' 'damn' and possibly 'bitch'.**

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><p><strong>OPPOSITES ATTRACT – REWRITE<strong>

**Chapter One – Just what I was used to**

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><p>In the summer after I finished my end of school exams, my dad got married. And, truth be told, I wasn't massively happy about it: I didn't like the woman my dad was marrying, Sahar. She was far too concerned with her appearance, spent far too much money on her clothes, and cared far too little about her son, Sheik, who was just a year older than me. But I was determined that I wasn't going to ruin things for my dad. Clearly, despite her flaws, Sahar made him happy for whatever reason, and I wasn't going to get in the way of that. He deserved someone who made him smile after everything he went through when we lost my mother.<p>

And so I put up with Sahar's Bridezilla temper tantrums. I let her dress me up like a Barbie doll in a thousand and one pastel coloured, pastry shaped, bridesmaid's dresses. I had to teach her son (my soon-to-be step brother) how to tie a bow tie. I even drove all the way across town on the morning of the wedding to pick up the flowers, as the florist's van had broken down. I did everything I could to prove to my father that I was ok with the wedding, even though he'd only known Sahar for a year.

All the effort was worth it though, because we pulled off the wedding with minimal issues. There was an awkward moment where the ring bearer, my cousin Keil, dropped the rings, but it was easily resolved with a soft laugh and a muffled apology. The vows were said. The church bells rang. Everyone clapped. 'You may now kiss the bride' and all that ensued. Then Dad and Sahar jetted off to the Private Oasis holiday resort, leaving me and my step-brother alone in the house for two weeks.

Fair to say, it was more than a little awkward. I barely knew Sheik. Most of the time that Dad and Sahar had been together, Sheik was off at boarding school. He was studying for advanced examinations, meaning that he only came home during the school holidays. I'd met him for a few select weeks at a time. We got on okay, but I wouldn't go so far as to say that we were really friends yet.

And then one morning, I was sat at the breakfast bar eating a bagel and sipping orange juice. I absent-mindedly flipped through a newspaper as I ate. Headlines slipped in and out of my mind as I turned the pages. Another national company had gone broke, another celebrity had been arrested, another politician had raised taxes. I swear not a single news article was positive. Why did no one ever do a report on how absolute poverty rates are all down? Or how cancer mortality rates are dropping? It seemed to me like every single journalist was a pessimist... I was halfway through the newspaper when Sheik came down dressed in nothing but a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of boxers, his blonde hair mussed up like he'd just clambered out of bed.

"Oh Sheik!" I said, shielding my eyes. "I'm trying to eat here, so would you mind not walking around in your underwear?"

"I'm trying," he replied, laughing as he rushed through the kitchen barefoot. "I left my jeans in the dryer."

He vanished into the utility room. By the time he emerged a few moments later, I'd already finished my bagel. He pulled open the fridge as I downed the last of my juice.

"More OJ?" he asked.

I laughed. "Who even calls it 'OJ' anymore?"

He rolled his eyes, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. "I'll take that as a no then."

I cleared my dirty dishes from the counter, sliding out of my stool and making my way over to the dishwasher. He watched me with his rusty eyes narrowed, deep in thought as I loaded my dishes into the drawers.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I asked.

"You friends all live in town, right?" he said, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes…" I said uneasily.

He nodded. "Because I'm at boarding school, mine live all over the place."

I frowned, standing up and closing the dishwasher. "What's your point?"

"Do you feel like throwing a house party?"

I let out a soft laugh. It was a nice idea, but I just wasn't into it. It's not like I'm the clichéd not-many-friends-barely-leaves-the-house type girl. I'd been to house parties before, and knew all too well that they're not as glamorous as they're cut up to be. On one occasion, I'd even seen a friend throw up from a second floor window and onto the unfortunate couple stood below. I didn't have the stomach to clean up after that mess. And I, for one, didn't feel much like chipping dried vomit off the side of the aquarium.

"No, thank you," I said with a soft laugh.

"Why you gotta rain on everyone's parade?" he asked as he peeled a banana and tossed the skin on the kitchen side.

I paused. "Are you going to put that in the bin?"

He glanced at the banana peel. "In a minute."

"That's a no then…" I said, leaning over and grabbing the yellow peel from the kitchen side. In one swift motion I flipped open the lid of the food waste bin and dropped it in.

Sheik let out a laugh and said through a mouthful of banana. "I knew you were going to do that!"

I poked my tongue out at him in response. He knew full well that I didn't like leaving the kitchen in a mess. I guess I take after my mum in that respect… but it meant that he could leave his clutter lying around because he knew that I'd tidy it up sooner or later.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to having a boy around the house," I said.

As a result of turning down Sheik's ill-considered house party idea, we didn't really do much with our summer. I went to the movies a couple of times with my friends. Sheik and I stayed in some nights with take away pizza. On one occasion, I brought him, along with four of my friends, on a day trip to a theme park. It was fun, but it was hard to ignore the fact that Sheik and I didn't have a lot in common.

He was very athletic, going to the gym twice a week and for jogs each morning, which is probably how he kept his toned figure. He loved to crack jokes, though he tried to keep them clean when our parents were around. None of that would have bothered me, but he had this tendency to be brutally honest, and it really irritated me. I don't think it was something that he did intentionally, but that didn't change the fact that it made him come across as quite opinionated and rude.

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><p>It was early in the second week of our parent's vacation, when Sheik and I found ourselves stuck at home one evening. We both sat in the living room, him in grey shorts and an off-white t-shirt and me in my red skirt and a black tank top. He was busy tapping away on his tablet, and I was flipping through the movie listings on the TV.<p>

"Do you feel like watching Tangled?" I asked. "I haven't seen it in ages."

He snapped his gaze up from the tablet, finger poised in mid-air. "Isn't that a kid's movie?"

"Yes," I said. "But it's still good."

He turned to me, cocking an eyebrow. "Zelda, you're nearly seventeen, smart, and reasonably sane. Why would you want to watch a kid's movie?"

"Because it's good!" I reiterated.

"Sounds stupid to me," he said, his voice slightly strained as he pushed himself up from his chair. "I'm going to play some Assassin's Creed."

It always irked me when people refused to embrace their childish side. How is it completely normal for him to own countless video games, but it was 'stupid' for me to want to watch a children's movie? I liked being childish sometimes. It was refreshing and reminded me of a time when no problem was too big that it couldn't be solved with a box of cherry ice cream and a hug from my mum and dad.

So I went ahead and watched Tangled anyway. I was right: it was awesome.

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><p>I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I was relieved when Dad and Sahar came home from their honeymoon. It was a welcome break from the effort I had to put in when trying to socialize with Sheik. And of course, it was great to be able to see my dad again. He strolled through the door, suitcase in tow, and wrapped me up in my arms.<p>

"How's my favourite little girl?" he asked.

"I'm just happy you're home," I replied as we broke apart.

Sahar came through the front doors moments later, sporting a glowing tan and a new pair of designer flip-flops. Her expensively streaked blonde hair fell around her shoulders in glossy curls. She kissed me on either cheek, being careful not to smudge her lipstick as she did.

"How was Private Oasis?" Sheik asks, bounding down the stairs in his Chuck Taylors and short sleeved plaid shirt.

"Absolutely wonderful!" Sahar replied, waltzing past me to kiss her son on either cheek. "Warm, sunny, and there was a beautiful beach and such cute shops! We had a wonderful time, didn't we dear?"

"We did," Dad replied, flashing me a grin. I shuddered a little despite the warm temperature. I could put up with Sheik making dirty jokes, but hearing them from my dad was another matter entirely.

"Now Sheik dear, why don't you go get my cases from the car while Zellie here makes us all a nice cold drink?" Sahar said, taking a moment to straighten out my hair. I didn't bother to remind her that I didn't like her calling me Zellie. That was my mother's name for me.

I slipped from the room and into the large open kitchen-diner. This was the house I'd always grown up, so I knew it like the back of my hand. It was far from small, but being filled with family photos and trinkets from our holidays, it felt homely anyway. However, when Sahar moved in, she'd decided that she wanted to remodel the kitchen. She had mum's old wooden worktops and the aga ripped out and refitted with sleek black and white surfaces, a built in breakfast bar, and an island counter for cooking. I couldn't deny the fact that it looked good, but having such a modern kitchen made the place feel a little less like the home I'd always known.

I reached into the fridge, pulling out the pitcher of iced tea that Sheik and I made earlier that day. I then closed the door and pressed the button on the ice maker that was fitted on the fridge door. A grinding and clunking sound erupted as ice cubes dropped into the pitcher. Perfect. I placed the pitcher in the middle of a tray, put four glasses around it, and carried the tray out to the patio where Dad, Sahar and Sheik were sitting.

Sahar was spread out on the lounger, dark sunglasses pulled down over her eyes. She sighed like the journey home had been so exhausting for her – though I'm willing to bet Dad drove all the way back from the airport. As for Dad himself, he was on one of the wicker arm chairs, eyes closed and feet propped up on the coffee table with hands clasped on his rounded stomach. His greying hair was long overdue for a trim and pushed back like he'd been running his hands through it. I prodded his feet off the table with my toe, being careful not to spill any of the iced tea in the process.

He snapped one green-brown eye open, watching me carefully as I laid down the tray. His eyes were nothing like mine. I took after my mother, inheriting an indigo blue colour from her. I liked it that way; it was like having a small reminder of her every time I looked in the mirror.

"Good work Zelda, you didn't spill a drop!" Dad said, smiling as I straightened the pitcher.

"Congrats, you're now qualified to be a waitress," Sheik muttered from where he was lying on the grass a few feet away, reading a book.

"Sheik, leave your sister alone," Sahar said, not even looking at him. She never bothered to properly discipline him. It was what I liked to call the half-assed-parental-approach.

"She's not my sister," Sheik reminded her, never moving his eyes from his book.

"Fine then, step-sister," Sahar replied before turning to look at me. "Pour me a glass of iced tea, won't you dear?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and remind her that I'm not actually a waitress, opting instead to just do as she asked without complaining. I've found that life's a lot easier that way. Once she'd got her drink, I settled myself down in a wicker arm chair, pulling it a little closer to the table so I could pour my own drink.

"So," Dad said, the way he always did when he was trying to raise something important. "You've got results day next week." The ice clinked as it dropped from the pitcher into my glass, chipping away at the awkward silence. "Are you nervous?"

I put the pitcher back down on the tray before taking a sip from my iced tea. "A little… but there's not much point worrying now. I've done the work, so all I can do is hope that it went well."

"That's a good attitude to take," Dad said, nodding encouragingly.

"Hey!" Sheik called over from the grass. "And even if you fail all your exams, it doesn't matter. You can always be a waitress."

There we go again with the blunt humour.

"Sheik," Sahar said again. It could barely even classify as a scolding.

"It's fine," I said, more to myself than to Sahar. Nothing Sheik said could have any impact on my exam results, so why should I care?

"Besides," I added, before taking another sip. "You only need 7 C's to get into Floria Academy."

Sahar pulled her sunglasses down her nose, shooting my dad a look. I paused, glass poised mid-air. I felt suspicion creeping up inside of me.

"That's true…" my dad murmured while helping himself to a drink, "although, I'm sure you've done better than that."

"I hope so," I said, my gaze flicking between Dad and Sahar. "But I'm just saying, worst case scenario…"

I was lying. Floria Academy wasn't my worst case scenario. The plan had been Floria Academy from day one. It was the local sixth form college. It wasn't a dive; in fact, it was a good sixth form college. And I knew that going there, I could get grades that would get me into Clock Town University – which is where I planned to go in two years' time. They had a fantastic music history and performance crossover course there. It had been my dream to study music for as long as I can remember. Dad knew all of this… so why was he hedging now?

Dad let out a groan as he relaxed back in his chair, drink in hand. "Just remember, there are a lot of options out there."

That should have been clue number one.

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><p>Another week passed, each day spent like most days in the summer holidays are. I went to the outdoor pool with a couple of friends from school. Sheik took me for a drive in his new open-topped convertible car. I read a couple of books, learnt to play some new songs on my harp, and tried my best to keep my mind off of my exam results. But still, as the impending doom of results day loomed ever closer, it became harder and harder to ignore. Luckily, the day before I got my results, a friend of Sheik's came to visit.<p>

He was tall, with broad shoulders and ruffled chocolate brown hair. I was introduced as the 'step-sister, Zelda' and greeted with a firm hand shake from a boy who called himself Pipit. He had large blue eyes and the kind of scattering of freckles only really associated with prolonged exposure to the sun.

"Good to meet you Zelda!" Pipit said. "Sheik tells me you're an Animal Crossing fan?"

I glanced at my step-brother, who had never been much of an AC fan himself. "Yeah… it's a mild obsession of mine."

Pipit grinned. "Join the club! I should've bought my DS."

"Oh come on," Sheik said. "It's boiling hot outside, so you don't wanna sit indoors playing video games. Let's go for a ride. I'll take you to that skate park I was telling you about."

And so the two of them vanished off for the day. Dad and Sahar were going out to buy a new stereo for the kitchen and asked me if I wanted to come along with them, but I didn't much feel like being cooped up in a stuffy electronics store all day, so I opted to stay at home instead. It was quiet in the house, the kind of quiet that leaves you alone with your thoughts – which is something I really didn't want to go through considering what was happening the following day. So I grabbed my iPod, put on a pair of sandals, and took a walk.

I found myself strolling leisurely along the edge of the lake in the city park. It was fairly crowded, and there were at least three ice creams vans in sight as I dipped my toes into the cool water. Couples were sat on towels, children played in the sprinklers, and teenagers milled about in groups, chatting and exchanging gossip in the scorching hot sun. Summer had set over Floria like it always did – long, hot, intense, and absolutely unavoidable. But I supposed that was the way I liked it. I guess it was just what I was used to.

I don't know how long I was out for exactly, but it must have been a while because I stopped off to snoop around in my favorite bookstore. Being the summer, I'd done a lot of reading, and I'd be out of books in a few days, so I dropped by to pick up some more. The shop assistant who worked there, Aida, was used to me coming in and rootling around for books. I came in and out at least once a week. In term time, I often popped in after school too. She was always ready and waiting with a friendly smile and a new suggestion. She picked out a few books for me that day, each and every one of them young adult novels set in societies very different from our own. I couldn't say for definite why fictions set in alternate universes appealed so much to me. Maybe it was some clichéd subconscious part of me that's trying to escape my own bland reality. Whatever the reason, I ended up leaving that store with five new books.

By the time I got home, Sheik's friend Pipit was getting ready to leave. As I walked through the front gates, they were clambering in Sheik's car so he could drive Pipit to the train station. The doors slammed shut as I held open the gates for them, and within a few seconds they'd pulled up beside me. Sheik wound down the window.

"Good day?" he asked me.

"Yeah, it was quite nice. I got some new books," I said, holding up the tote bag in my hand. "You?"

"Pretty good," Sheik said with a nod.

I glanced behind him to where Pipit sat in the passenger seat. "Are you off now?" I asked.

Pipit nodded. "Yeah. I've got to catch the 6:30 back to Kakariko. I'm supposed to be going for dinner with my girlfriend today and she'll be super angry if I'm late."

Sheik lets out a soft laugh. "You're so whipped…"

"Shaddup…" Pipit mutters bashfully, jabbing an elbow into Sheik's ribs. "Now come on, I don't want to miss my train."

I give him a small wave. "It was nice meeting you, Pipit!"

He nods. "You too Zelda. I guess I'll be seeing you soon."

But before I could correct him, Sheik revved up his car and sped away, kicking up gravel from the drive behind him.

That should have been my second clue.

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><p>Less than twenty-four hours after my confusing encounter with Pipit, I found myself holding a white envelope and sitting on an uncomfortable chair outside Costa Coffee. It was the closest coffee shop to my old school, and my parents insisted that they wanted to be with me when I opened my results. It had been quite a challenge to get out of school without opening it, not only because most of my friends had opened theirs in the school library and were celebrating together, but also because I desperately wanted to know how I'd done. Yet, upon Sahar's insistence, I had to politely excuse myself.<p>

An untouched frappuccino sat in front of me in a thin plastic cup, whipped cream pushed up against the side of the domed lid. Sheik sat with me, noisily sipping his strawberry shake and looking particularly arrogant. I glanced over to where Dad and Sahar were still standing at the counter. The clerk was still making up their drinks, but I promised them I'd wait.

"Aw, I remember this," Sheik said, wearing a smug grin.

"Oh stop it," I sighed. "You got straight A's!"

"Actually," he said, taking another noisy slurp of his drink. "I got a couple of A*s…"

I shot him my worst look, dropping the envelope down on the table. "Well good for you…"

He let out a low laugh, leaning forward. "Relax Zel, I'm only teasing you! You're smart, I know you'll do just fine."

That's when Dad and Sahar made their way over, Dad carrying a tray with a cup of coffee and an iced tea. They settled themselves down on either side of me, watching me eagerly.

"Well?" Sahar said. "What are you waiting for?"

And so I picked up the envelope, tearing carefully at the corners. It's in that moment, that moment where you're finally opening the envelope that it hits you what it really contains. All those letters inked on to a page actually mean something. It's in that moment that I realized how terrifying it was.

I pulled out the sheet of paper, angling it so only I could see what it said. I wanted to know before anyone else… these were my results, my work, my future. My eyes glazed over the information, not really taking anything in. I skipped over all the individual exam results, looking instead to the subject grades – that was all I really needed to know. Letters danced in front of me, As, Bs… reassuring…

I quickly counted them up in my head.

"Two A stars, four As, four Bs" I said with a grin.

"Congrats!" Sheik said, patting me on the shoulder. "You should be proud!"

I was proud. All of those hours spent studying, staying late for revision classes and turning in countless practice papers had been worth it.

"That's enough to get in, isn't it?" my dad asked.

I beamed. "Way more than enough!"

But as I looked up, I realized that he wasn't talking to me. It took me a few moments to notice that he was in fact, addressing the question to Sahar. She was smiling, but I failed to understand.

"Zellie," she said, reaching out for one of my hands. "We weren't going to tell you, because we didn't want to put any pressure on you… but we sent in an application form for you to Her Grace's…"

Everything stopped.

"That's… Sheik's school, right?" I said.

"It's a sixth form college," she corrected me. "They offer amazing education, and Sheik has loved it there. We thought it would be the best place for you."

I blinked.

What was I supposed to say to that?

"You want me to go to boarding school?

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><p><strong>So for those of you who are wondering about the reasons I've made such changes to this story, I'll list them out here. The first issue was that my writing has changed a lot since I wrote the original, and I feel that the plotline of the original is too superficial to fit with my current writing style, so some adaptations and additions were needed to keep the story engaging.<strong>

**Secondly, I write longer stories nowadays, the chapters here will be longer than in the original story and there's set to be twice the amount of them, so I needed more content to work!**

**And lastly, there were some topics that I wanted to approach within this story, things that allowed me to push myself as a writer. In addition to that, this story contains elements of a story that I never got around to writing, Camp Floria.**

**And that's just about it! If you have any more questions, feel free to ask away in a review or send me a PM :)**

**Until next time!**

**-Nayru**


	2. RIP Pig 4

**Hey! So I realise that it's been too long since I've updated, so if any of you are still actually reading this, then I'm incredibly grateful! I know you don't want to hear the drawn out explanations, so I'll keep it simple: UCAS (the system we use in England to apply for university) hates teenagers and wants them to suffer immensely. Though some of you may like to know that it's going really well! Fingers crossed; this time next year I'll be studying Creative Writing at the university level!**

**Anyhow, this chapter has a change of perspective so don't let that startle you!**

**Praise to my wonderful beta read, LEva114!**

**And onto the story!**

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><p>To: Headmaster Auru and the Board of Directors, Kakariko Town High School<p>

Before I begin, I'd like to state that Dark and I hadn't intended for this to go as badly as it did. It was only supposed to be a harmless leaving prank. It shouldn't have ended the way that it did. And in all the confusion that followed, I'd like to remind you of the fact that Dark and I couldn't possibly have predicted the outcome of this event.

It seems selfish of me to ask anything more of you, but I hope that you can read the following statement with an open and forgiving mind. So without further ado, I will now detail my view of events in the hopes that you can see that, despite the outcome, there was no malicious intent here.

It all started about two weeks prior. Various other students were planning their leaving pranks, but they were, to put it politely, incredibly tame. Dark and I wanted to step it up. We had somewhat of a reputation for being pranksters, as I'm sure you're aware, and it had gotten us into trouble before. But we were in our final year. What was the worst that could happen?

In retrospect, that may have been a poor attitude to take. It was that kind of attitude that meant we didn't properly consider the consequences of our actions. It was that kind of attitude that meant we didn't take the year sevens into account. Or, as Dark would come to call it, the 'first-year-factor'.

We called up a local farmer. He lived just outside of the city, and he was advertising online for farm animal rental for a day. I suppose he intended to rent the farm animals out to schools or Boy Scout groups and the like. I highly doubt that his intention was that two teenage boys would use his pigs to wreak havoc on their last day of school – but clearly, he wasn't as well educated on the dangers of the internet as the modern generation.

So we hired three pigs for the day. I was just going to have these three little creatures released from different corners of the school. I wanted them to run rampant and mess in the corridors and generally disrupt school life – I apologise for my poor attitude.

Not to point fingers, but it was Dark's idea to paint the numbers onto their backs. He thought that we could do with just a little extra something. So he went out and bought hair dye (he got the vegetable based one – we didn't want the pigs to get hurt). And he painted a number on each pig's back. He numbered the pigs one, two, and four. As I'm sure you noticed, his paintwork was shoddy and he ended up getting hair dye all over his hands. This would turn out to be the flaw in our anonymity, as I'm sure you've already worked out.

The original idea was that the teachers would spend all day searching for the illusive pig number three, only to find that it never existed in the first place. That was the extent of the mischief we wanted to cause.

I would also like to state that things wouldn't have gone quite as awry as they did if it weren't for the year sevens. They played a vital role in the downfall that occurred here. Not to sound rude, but year sevens aren't the most intelligent creatures at the best of times, let alone in a crisis situation. I don't know which of them thought that it would be a smart idea to shut a panicking pig into a cupboard, but they did. I assume it was some futile attempt to keep the pig in the same place while the teachers tried to capture them and restore some semblance of order to their chaotic school. Whoever they might be, they really should have realised that locking a pig (a hungry pig too) into a cupboard filled with bleach, anti-bacterial spray and various other cleaning products was a horrifically bad idea. Not to shift blame, but perhaps then we would have been spared this whole nasty ordeal.

For the record, I would like to state that I regret that the pig had to suffer through such tremendous pain. I regret that he lost control of his own gag reflex and his bowels. I regret that the creature, who was innocent in himself, was too far gone to be saved. I would also like to apologise to Mr. Richmond, who had to drive back to the farm with a pig corpse in the boot of his car. That can't have been an enjoyable experience.

I would like you to know that both Dark and I are extremely sorry for all the havoc that we caused, and we both strongly regret our roles within this enterprise.

Yours sincerely,

Link Faron, Class of 2014

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><p>What I didn't say in the letter was that, excluding the deceased pig (RIP piggy number four), I didn't regret the fun that Dark and I had planning and carrying out the prank. I didn't say that it was entirely too heavy handed of him to ban us from returning to study our A-levels at his school. I also didn't tell Auru that it was out of line for him to drag our mother from her extremely busy work schedule and tell her the most maliciously warped version of events possible that made us sound like pig-murdering maniacs.<p>

She drove us home from school in stony silence that day. Usually when Dark and I got ourselves into trouble, she'd lecture us as she drove us home. She'd tell us that we needed to start taking our education seriously and, more importantly, we needed to take ourselves seriously. "You're adults now," she'd say. "You need to stop playing these childish games." And Dark and I would sit in the back seat all the while, not saying a word. He'd stare down at his steel capped boots like they were the most interesting things in the world, and I'd watch the town roll past our window.

But not this time. This time, she didn't say a single word. Her knuckles were yellowed from how tightly she gripped the steering wheel. Her lips remained tightly pressed together for the whole journey, and she didn't even glance at Dark and I in the rear-view mirror. I think that was the most terrifying thing. A lecture was easy enough to endure, but the silence was deafening.

Still not a word escaped her lips as she pulled up on the street outside our apartment building. I followed Mum like an obedient puppy dog up the two flights of stairs and into our little two bedroom apartment. Mum had never believed in using the lift when the stairs would suffice. Dark skulked a little way behind us, hiding behind his mop of dark hair, his hands pressed deep into the pockets of his jeans. It was the way he always reacted when we got into trouble, but something was different here. I didn't like it one bit.

She pushed open the door and walked straight in, dropping her bag onto the ottoman just inside. I held open the door for Dark, and then gently closed it. By the time I turned around, Mum was drawing the curtains at the far end of the living room. I say living room, but there was only really one main room to the house. It was one open kitchen-living space with worktops to the left and an old red sofa and arm chair arranged in front of the TV on the right. A small four person dining table sat between the work surfaces and the sofa. The space was perpetually just a little untidy, despite Mum's best efforts.

Dark and I stood, feeling like suspects in an identity parade, waiting for the lecture to begin. But it never did. Mum walked in silence over to the bookshelf and took down her address book. She sat down on the sofa, composed despite her obviously exhausted state. She thumbed through the book, then pulled the landline phone from its cradle and dialled a number. Dark and I exchanged bemused glances, but she still refused to look at us as she pressed the phone to her ear.

We waited in tense silence for a few moments, until eventually someone picked up the phone.

"Hello Mum, it's me, Ren." She paused for a few moments, before clarifying, "Renata."

Dark and I quickly made ourselves scarce after that. Mum and our grandmother had always had a somewhat frosty relationship. Our grandmother was a very conservative person. She had always wanted her daughter to settle down with her definition of a 'good man' – a doctor or a lawyer perhaps. She wanted her to have a husband and a family and a pretty suburban house with a driveway, a swing set, and a dog; just like she did.

So when Mum found herself pregnant at nineteen, with no father or prospective husband in sight, her mother was less than pleased. Despite this, she refused to abandon her daughter. She helped in the only way she knew how; not by offering emotional or physical support to her daughter, but by paying for anything that she could get away with. Mum was proud, and she wouldn't take more than she had to, but raising two twins wasn't cheap. She let her mum buy her the cheapest flat that was reasonable and aid her during her maternity leave. But as soon as she was able to get back to work, she did, and she stopped taking her mother's charity.

Since then, we received fat checks out our birthdays and at Christmas, but rarely saw our grandmother. Hell, I could barely remember what she looked like.

"We've really done it this time," I muttered as the bedroom door closed.

Dark simply shrugged, stooping down to unlace his steel capped worker boots. He didn't care that those boots were designed for builders or miners; he wore them every single day. He'd had the same pair for about two years now. I suppose he thought that they made him look tough and unapproachable. It was probably the same reason that he reapplied the same temporary tattoo to the inside of his left wrist every week.

"I'm serious," I replied as I kicked off my own converses. "I've never seen Mum like this. I really think we pushed her over the edge."

Dark sighed at that. "Don't get your panties in a twist," he scoffed. "Give it a week, I guarantee you that this will all blow over."

I gave him a disapproving look. "How could you possibly know that?"

"It's what's happened every other time, isn't it?" he asked. He sat himself down, cross legged, on his duvet cover. Dark and I had a set of twin beds. Our room was too small really for standard sized beds. They were built with a set of drawers beneath each one so we didn't have to have a separate dresser too. Aside from that, the only other furniture in the room was one large white wardrobe that we shared, and two little bedside tables. We had bookshelves nailed overhead that ran around three walls of the room and held all our books, DVDs, and video games.

"Trust me," Dark continued, "when the dust settles, this will be just another funny story."

"We killed a pig, dammit!" I spat.

Dark gave me a half smile at that, his dark eyes glistening. "Technically, that wasn't our fault."

I didn't dignify that with a response, just blew my cheeks out and collapsed down onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow.

"Don't be like that," he sighed.

"Oh, bite me…" I groaned, my voice muffled by the pillow.

Having a twin isn't nearly as fun as it looks in books or on TV. Sure, Dark and I share fun times planning pranks together, I always have someone to play against with video games, and we do get on well most of the time. But it's not all synchronised speech and inside jokes. Dark and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, no more than ordinary siblings do, and sometimes he straight up irritates me. I'm pretty sure he feels the same about me at times. Like right now.

I couldn't say how long I lay there, my face squashed up against my green striped pillow case. After a while, I heard the sounds of Dark playing his old wooden guitar. It was a terrible thing sporting a bad black paint job and barely staying in tune. He bought it for 30 rupees down at a charity shop in Kakariko town centre – he got ripped off if you ask me. Regardless, he seemed to love it and played it religiously.

After a while, I changed into my pyjama bottoms and shoved on an old t-shirt before clambering into bed. I hadn't eaten a thing since I'd gotten home from school but I wasn't in any mood to. We were supposed to have sausages and mash for dinner tonight. I probably don't need to explain why I had no appetite for it. Besides, Mum hadn't made any effort to let us know that she'd cooked dinner, if she'd even done it, and I didn't want to bother her.

As I lay there in bed, the sounds of Mum's phone conversation drifted through the wall. Her voice was muffled beyond recognition so I couldn't understand a word she was saying. But one thing I knew for sure was that this time, we'd really done it. Guilt was a nagging tug that kept me from resting and weighed me down to Earth. I just wanted to take back everything, but of course, life doesn't work like that.

* * *

><p>By the time I woke up the following morning, my phone was full of notifications from last night. It turns out that the news of the prank was pervasive, and now everybody and their grandma knew of our escapade. I flicked through the texts. They all read along similar lines:<p>

"Awesome prank! Shame about the pig :P"

"Would've been a legendary leaving prank if not for pig #4!"

"You killed a pig dude! Gotta admit it was funny tho ;)"

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. I took a deep breath and opened up Snapchat. Sure enough, much to my dismay, everyone's story contained a picture of the little pigs scampering around school. It was official; the news was spreading faster than the flu. I was completely, utterly, screwed. I glanced over to Dark. He was still curled up in his bed, his legs tangled in his black and grey striped duvet. He was oblivious to the world, as always. I wish I shared his fortunate state.

Slowly and reluctantly, I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom. It took my sleep-addled mind a few minutes to find a clean change of clothes and my towel but I eventually reached the shower. The water was lukewarm, as always, but I wasn't going to complain. I never complained, because I knew that the water pipes in this building were dodgy, and it always made Mum feel bad if I pointed it out.

I emerged feeling clean and much more awake; Itowel dried my hair and got dressed. I took a moment to take in a deep breath before grabbing the handle of the bathroom door. I knew that Mum wouldn't be in a fantastic mood this morning. From what I could gather in my patchy sleep, she was up until the small hours of the morning talking away on her phone. She would be tired, but anything had to be better than the silent treatment that we had received yesterday.

I summoned up the courage to push the door open and make my way into the room, but the sight that I was greeted with wasn't quite what I was expecting. Mum was still curled up on the sofa in yesterday's crumpled clothes with the landline phone in hand. Various papers were spread out on the coffee table, and the family laptop sat open in front of where Mum was sitting. Three cups of coffee were half drunk and discarded at the foot of the sofa. I felt that familiar tug of guilt. She must have been so exhausted that she fell asleep while she was still working.

But still, the curiosity ate away at me. What exactly was she doing?

I crept closer to the coffee table, being careful to tread lightly. The floorboards were old here, and ordinary footsteps sounded like the cast of Stomp. I kept to the rug in order to soften my steps, but Mum didn't even stir. My eyes scanned the various pieces of paper as I leaned over the coffee table. There were bank transfer statements, behavioural records, and letters of expulsion, report cards, and student details. It was a cluttered mess, and my sleep deprived mental faculties were struggling to make sense of anything.

That is, until something caught my eye.

At first glance, it seemed like just another piece of mundane paper work, yet it was of a different layout to all the others. It wasn't a formal piece of paper work – it was printed straight off a website. My hands trembled as I carefully picked it up, taking a closer look at it. My brow knitted itself into a tight frown as I read the heading.

"Her Grace's Academy – Policy for Students with Behavioural Issues."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I turned back to the table, suddenly frantic. New documents began to leap out at me: student transfer records, education and accommodation fees, parent support details.

I knew it. I knew we'd pushed her too far.

She was sending us to boarding school.


End file.
